


clean and dirty

by peet4paint



Category: Glee
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Smut, dirty - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-07
Updated: 2011-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-22 08:52:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peet4paint/pseuds/peet4paint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seeing Brittany--perfect Brittany--against the filthy bathroom floor really does something for Santana.</p>
            </blockquote>





	clean and dirty

**Author's Note:**

> My first real attempt at femslash \o/
> 
> Probably a bit cliche, but...
> 
> Written for kink_bingo prompt = wet, messy, dirty

They’re at a gas station when it gets to be too much. Brittany’s just sitting on the hood of the car, sucking on a push-up. And watching that orange sherbet slide between Brittany’s lips over and over and over again pushes Santana right over the edge.

She grabs Britt’s hand—pulls her off the car, to the nasty little gas station bathroom that Santana usually wouldn’t be willing to pee in.

But she’s willing to do this.

The floor is concrete, walls white tile that’s almost gray with dirt. Against all the filth and colorlessness, Brittany sticks out like a sore thumb.

“Hey,” Santana says, tugging her close. She kisses her, and it’s so soft, perfect—just like always. She sucks on Brittany’s lip, nips it with little bites.

Brittany writhes against her, body curling in a dance that only the two of them know.

She stills suddenly, says, “Why do they call it a push-up Santana? It doesn’t have naked men on it at all?”

Santana pulls back—looks at her. She feels her mouth pulling into a smile, almost against her will. “God I love you.”

She closes her eyes, holds herself completely still for a minute. The world doesn’t up and swallow her whole.

She didn’t mean to say it.

But she won’t take it back.

She feels a hand in hers, Brittany’s hand in hers, and then she’s opening her eyes—almost against her will.

“I love you too, Santana,” Brittany says. “Especially your tongue. I think I love your tongue the best of all.”

And Santana’s smiling again, dirty this time. “My tongue, huh baby? Where do you want it?”

She grabs Brittany around the waist, pulls her until the two of them are close, close enough to share air, close enough to almost be one person.

And then she’s licking Brittany’s collarbone, going up under her ear and biting, slipping buttons undone with one hand until Brittany’s standing there in just a skirt and bra, shirt fluttering onto the floor.

Brittany drops onto the ground, hands and knees, like she doesn’t even notice the dirt. Like it’s not even there or something. Like the scent of gasoline and cigarette and fucking piss doesn’t permeate the place until it’s almost impossible to take a breath. “C’mon, Santana,” she says, turning to look at Santana over her shoulder.

“Yeah,” Santana says, barely getting it out. And then she’s kneeling behind Brittany, mouthing her hairline, fingers pinching Brittany’s nipples through the fabric of her bra.

Brittany moans.

Santana moves down. Her mouth traces its way down Brittany’s back, tongue following muscles. When she gets to the base of Britt’s spine, she starts sucking, biting a little. Leaving her mark on all that perfect skin.

“Mmm,” Brittany says, “Santana, please.”

Santana flips Britt’s skirt up, out of the way. Fingers her way under Britt’s panties until there’s nothing but wet heat. “That what you want, baby?”

Brittany whines high in the back of her throat. “Yeah.”

Santana wriggles fingers under the waistband—slips the panties down and off. And then she’s down on her forearms, licking her way into Brittany.

She tastes just like always, salty, sharp. But it’s almost overwhelmed by the fumes of gasoline, the scent getting in until Santana can barely breathe without tasting it.

Santana gets a hand around Brittany, finger rubbing over her clit, short fast jabs, just like she likes it.

Brittany collapses forward, body arching in pleasure.

Santana rubs her finger up, up, until it’s slipping inside her, sliding in on wetness.

And then she pulls even further back, slips into Brittany’s ass.

Brittany quakes, muscles flailing on the ground. “Santana!”

“Sh,” Santana says, reaching forward, running her mostly clean hand through Brittany’s perfect hair. “Sh, you’re fine.”

Santana lets her hand slip down until she’s at Brittany’s breast again. She rubs her thumb over Britt’s nipple, rubs on the underside of Brittany’s breast.

Then Brittany’s shoving back up on her forearms, fucking herself back onto Santana’s fingers. Her hand reaches out, finds Santana’s arm, and then she’s grabbing on, holding on for dear life.

That undoes Santana, somehow. Seeing Brittany, perfect shining Brittany, getting off in the dirty-ass bathroom sends the pleasure building up inside Santana. Warmth is pooling in her belly, tickling up her spine, down to her toes. She shoves herself forward, uses the hand she’s fucking Brittany with to hit her clit just _there_.

And then Brittany’s moaning, clenching around Santana’s fingers. And Santana is coming, white lights shooting off behind her eyes. “Brittany.”

Santana’s still coming down, riding the waves of sexy goodness, when she feels Britt pulling her into a hug. “Definitely your tongue,” Brittany says.

“Yeah,” Santana says smiling. “What about my fingers?”

Brittany links her fingers through Santana’s. “I love your fingers. But your tongue’s the best, because only I get to have your tongue.”

Santana’s smile spreads. “Yeah, you’re right,” she says, reaching over her head, grabbing Brittany’s shirt. “Only you get this.” She licks Brittany on the cheek, sloppy.

Brittany giggles.

Santana pulls Brittany’s shirt on, puts the buttons back in place. “You know what I love the best?” she says.

“No, what?” Brittany says, looking up at her.

“All of you,” Santana says, leaning over her for one more kiss. “Every single part of you, baby.”

Brittany smiles. “I think I figured it out.”

“What, Britt?” Santana says, reaching over for Brittany’s panties. She thinks about putting them back on Brittany, then shoves them into her pocket instead.

“They’re called push-ups ‘cause they’re shaped like a penis,” Brittany says, stretching.

“Really?” Santana says, getting up. She reaches down, grabs Brittany’s hand, pulls her up. “I never woulda guessed that.”

“I know,” Brittany says, tugging Santana’s hand. “That’s why I love you.”

“I thought it was my tongue,” Santana says.

“Well, obviously,” Brittany says, rolling her eyes. “But it’s also ‘cause you listen to everything I say.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re so damn smart, baby,” Santana says, opening the bathroom door, tugging Brittany out into the sunlight of a bright Lima day. “Who wouldn’t listen to everything you say?”

Brittany smiles at her and the two of them slip into Santana’s car. Santana reaches out to grab Brittany’s hand.

Brittany meets her halfway.


End file.
